


In Which

by heartsinhay



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2014-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-08 05:46:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1129047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartsinhay/pseuds/heartsinhay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quadrants vacillate, insults fly, misunderstandings abound and Miss Kanaya Maryam meets pale heartbreaker and notorious rake, Rose Lalonde.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zee/gifts).



The day Miss Kanaya Maryam arrived in London, the name on everyone’s lips was Rose Lalonde.

Rose Lalonde had had three pale relationships within the past month. Rose Lalonde was about to declare her candidacy for Troll Parliament Liason (even though Miss Lalonde was a human, and therefore legally and logistically barred from assuming the post, the good gossips of London Town, instead of retracting that particular theory, simultaneously advanced the idea that Miss Lalonde was secretly a troll as well). Rose Lalonde could consume the entire contents of a wine cellar in an hour and won the title of lynchpin of the crime families on the West End in a dice contest while supremely soused on gin.

“They call her the Lavender Queen over there,” Miss Megido, Kanaya’s maid, confided brightly, “Because that’s her favorite color. And because the Rose Queen sounds too much like a sort of liqueur.”

“I don’t quite think Lavender Queen sounds much better,” replied Miss Maryam, “It’s still a type of human flower, is it not?”

She and Miss Megido then began to converse upon the nature of human vegetation, the topic of Rose Lalonde dropped but not forgotten, which was just as well, for Kanaya Maryam and Rose Lalonde were soon to meet.

 

 

The reason Kanaya was in London had long and oft-tangled black hair, buckteeth, deep brown skin and one of the brightest scientific minds of her generation. Jade Harley, five months away from her majority, had sent her latest governess packing, and her dear friend Miss Maryam, as a respectable woman, though not very much older than Miss Harley herself, would be acting as her chaperone until she came of age.

To this purpose, Kanaya would accompany Miss Harley to all the events of the Season, and live with her besides. Though they lived on separate planets, the two had corresponded for almost all their lives, and although she was quite certain that London’s social scene, being comprised of barbaric and uncivilized humans, could never match up to that of her homeland, Kanaya was looking forward to spending time with her friend.

Her first introduction to London society came at a time and place that would have been quite disadvantageous to her, were she truly making her debut. An ordinary young lady would have attended one of Lady Crocker’s parties, or perhaps, if she could secure an invitation, Almack’s, but the first ball Kanaya had the dubious honor of attending was hosted at House Lalonde.

“Stop being a butt and get your nose out of that etiquette book, young lady,” Miss Harley advised on the carriage ride to the ball, “It’s not even that helpful, anyway. Here, look, I’m confiscating that book and you shall never see it again.” She stowed the offending volume in one of her many pockets (cleverly hidden in the folds of her dress), and, upon that gesture, Kanaya gave her such a despondent look that Miss Harley scoffed in what was almost a comforting manner.

“I told you not to be a butt, Kanaya,” she said, “You are a pleasant, intelligent young woman and any body would be glad to make your acquaintance. Besides, any lapse in etiquette will be considered charmingly alien, if nothing else, and the Lalondes have never stood on occasion.”

“Is that supposed to comfort me?” Kanaya asked morosely, silently berating herself for designing Miss Harley’s skirts and then, after a moment of thought, her friend even more for misusing them.

“Act as you always do and you will be hailed as the greatest Alternian wit in London,” Miss Harley replied, and with a sweep of her skirts, ushered them both inside the large, imposing doors.

Kanaya was not impressed by the grandeur of the house—on Alternia, she had seen much grander, and undersea besides—but was, however, struck by the massive wizard statue in the foyer. House Lalonde waged a curious war against itself on the battleground of good taste: here, there would be an impeccably decorated corner, the wall-paper pleasing and the furniture flawlessly arranged; there, there would be a gargantuan portrait of a bearded man in a dressing gown shooting lightning at the viewer, all the while standing on top of a flying mammalian seabeast. For a wild moment, Kanaya speculated that a servant she had spotted was wearing a false and majestically long beard, but then she realized that he was merely old.

It was nothing like what Kanaya had read about humanity, and even less like what she had read about English society. And now she was here, at a ball she strongly suspected to be less than respectable, bereft of her etiquette book and, she suspected, about to make a complete and utter fool of herself.

“See? You’ll be fine!” said Miss Harley brightly, mistaking Kanaya’s stupefaction for resignation, “Come with me. I did promise to introduce you to my dearest friends in the world, did I not?’

She dragged Kanaya into a large and spacious ballroom, marching straight through a throng of dancing couples. The dance floor was rather more cramped than Kanaya had been expecting. It had been reduced on one side by a veritable parade of whist tables, and on the other by a generous buffet. The musicians stood in the middle of the room on a raised platform, surrounded on all sides by dancing young (and rather less young) people but still determined to play. Miss Harley, fortunately, swerved to avoid the musicians, but otherwise made no concessions to the crowded space. She surged on, letting dancers either nimbly side-step her or dive out of her path, helpless in the wake of her cheerful stride. Eventually, she and Kanaya made it to the buffet tables, where they met a young man who looked strikingly like her.

“This is Cousin John,” she said to Kanaya, “I’ve told you about him! John Egbert, may I introduce you to my pen pal and current companion, Kanaya Maryam? I’ve told you about her as well. I’m sure you’ll both be great friends, although Kanaya does have a great deal more sense than you do, so don’t think of trying to include her in one of your japes, mister.”

“I suppose you’re just going to ignore me,” said a gentleman standing to the next of Mr. Egbert, “Leave me forlorn and bereft of making this lovely lady’s acquaintance. Like a dog out in the cold, clawing piteously at a closed door, barking in a fruitless attempt to draw my master’s attention and shivering despite my fur. You will—“

“Miss Maryam, Dave Strider. He’s very amiable, although he does not look it, and, as you can see—“

“—You will find me in the morn,” Mr. Strider continued, raising his voice slightly, “Frozen under a snow-bank on the front stoop. Poor Lurcher. He was so loyal. So good.”

“—Dave is a poet. And last, but not least…”

“Charmed,” came a voice from behind Kanaya. A white-gloved hand extended and reached hers. Kanaya half-turned, and looked up into lavender eyes.

“Our gracious host,” concluded Miss Harley, triumphantly, “Miss Rose Lalonde.”

“Ah,” said Kanaya. Lalonde. _Rose_ Lalonde. She hadn’t made the connection. It was difficult to reconcile the demon of rumor with the Rose Jade wrote of, the one who delighted in abstruse reference and polished her violin every month, and it was even more difficult to reconcile either with the woman standing in front of her. Miss Rose Lalonde was smooth-skinned and her limbs were well-formed, unlike the pimply teenager of Jade’s letters, and her face, although not unattractive, was not the striking and/or devilish visage Kanaya had come to expect from one so frequently talked about.

“I suppose she told you about me as well,” Miss Lalonde continued, airily, “Though even if she hasn’t, I suppose some gossip or another has. Please don’t tell me if you haven’t heard of me. I’d be entirely disappointed.”

“She has written of you. And I’ve heard of you, although I’m still unfamiliar with London society. I only just arrived, you see, and I doubt that I will have the chance to become more familiar with the various decorated personages of the area, because the Season is ending soon, or so I’ve been led to believe…” She trailed off, more for lack of breath than anything else.

“Then I am much appeased,” said Miss Lalonde, snapping her fan closed against her wrist with an air of finality. She was dressed in dark satin, a purple so deep she might as well be in mourning, with pink ribbons about her neck and her waist. Her fan was painted in a strange pattern: some sort of sea creature, although when viewed at a slant it appeared to be something like a skull.

“It’s a good thing that you did get here so soon,” Mr. Egbert interjected quite affably, slinging a companionable arm around Mr. Strider’s shoulder, “Dave and I are leaving to visit Grandpapa in India tomorrow, so if you’d been a day later, you would’ve missed us.”

“I am glad I did not.”

“Well, I’d have left you a couple surprises at Jade’s house, so it would’ve been a little like I was there. In spirit, of course. In spirit, and in airborne pastry.”

“Speaking of which,” Mr. Strider cut in, “Don’t we have to speak to Mr. Patel about finding a translator?  He’s standing by the boysenberry pie. So close, and yet so far away. Gazing at it lovingly from close by, his lips to its crust, whispering: ‘Would you like to dance’?”

“In that case, then, Ms. Maryam, Rose, Jade, please excuse us. Barring any sudden and dramatic improvement in my spoken Hindi, we have some business to conduct.”

The two ambled over to Mr. Patel, Mr. Egbert admonishing Mr. Strider to keep his poetical observations to himself, and the women of the party were therefore left to their own devices.

“I hope they don’t get lost again,” said Miss Harley, “The last time we attempted an international trip, we ended up in Provence rather than Portugal.”

“The last time we attempted an international trip, we were thirteen,” came Miss Lalonde’s rebuttal, “I should like to think that all four of us are a great deal more capable now, although I must admit that it’s difficult to tell.”

Miss Harley’s own rejoinder was interrupted by a tap on her shoulder. A tealblood troll had approached her, one clad not in the skirts that Kanaya had assumed but in white Alternian trousers, her blood color denoted by a large turquoise uniform coat and smart teal boots.

“Now?” Miss Harley asked with a despondent groan.

“Apologies, Miss Lime Delight,” the tealblood responded with a shark’s grin, “But the law waits for no party, and neither do we.”

“At least allow me to make introductions, “Miss Harley protested, and the tealblood acquiesced with a slight nod, “Miss Lalonde, Miss Maryam, this is Detective Inspector Terezi Pyrope, Legislacerator Liaison to Scotland Yard, for whom I currently consult. Detective Pyrope, this is Rose Lalonde and Kanaya Maryam, both my very dear friends.”

“We’ve met,” Miss Lalonde said shortly, her voice clipped almost to the point of discourtesy.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Kanaya said, catching herself before she could give Miss Lalonde a pointed stare, “It is always agreeable to meet one of one’s own countrymen in a foreign place, is it not?”

Miss Pyrope, in reply, leaned in closer and sniffed about Kanaya’s personage, almost going so far as to stick her tongue into the air.

“Avocado,” she pronounced, eventually, “But only the outside. And the possibility for many, many more. I am quite pleased to meet you, Miss Maryam, and I apologize for dragging your friend away, but I’m afraid Miss Harley and I need to go.”

“Will you be alright alone?” Miss Harley asked Kanaya, quietly, and, partly because Detective Pyrope’s matter was quite likely one of life and death, but mostly because Kanaya could feel Miss Lalonde’s appraising eyes on her back, she nodded yes.

Miss Harley left feeling quite relieved, but the truth was that Kanaya was nowhere near alright. Miss Lalonde did not seem forthcoming with conversational topics, and Kanaya had not thought to memorize her etiquette book. What did humans speak of at parties? The height and intensity of the sun outside? The various romantic entanglements of members of the _Ton_? Their laughable attempts at imitating quadranted romance? Chewing? It was much easier on Alternia, when one could always mention the Empress’s latest conquest or the inconvenience of space travel. Finally, Kanaya’s fevered mind settled on the sample conversation she had been reading in the carriage. She took a deep breath, and spoke.

“The painting outside is certainly striking.”

“Oh, that old thing? Mother had it commissioned last year for my birthday.”

“I hope we’re referring to the same painting,” Kanaya continued, holding her voice steady to keep from stammering, “The one in the foyer, with the elderly human upon the back of a small human sea animal that happens to be aerodynamic as well is the painting I am referring to, and, I hope, the painting that you are speaking of as well.”

“Yes, the very same. That pinnacle of understated elegance. Perhaps the artist’s most celebrated work yet, I cannot help but be proud that so many guests notice and remark upon that tastefully framed masterpiece.” Miss Lalonde’s expression had not changed a single whit throughout that entire speech, her mouth permanently fixed in a faint smile and her eyes in a cool, almost detached sort of gaze.

“The frame was,” Kanaya ventured to say, “Quite golden.”

“Oh, yes, and the choice of colors? So very subtle. I particularly liked the fuchsia detailing upon the robe. Didn’t you?”

“It certainly was a daring choice,” Kanaya said, and then, emboldened by the success of the conversation, “Paintings are very important to human culture. Sometimes they may even evoke pleasant emotions on the viewer’s part.”

“I must apologize,” Miss Lalonde replied, “But I thought it was apparent that I am not, in fact, fond of that painting. There is no need to trouble yourself attempting to be diplomatic.”

Kanaya stared, blankly, and cast her mind back to the etiquette book, trying to find a rule of interaction by which Miss Lalonde’s statement made logical sense. Perhaps it did not. Perhaps it was some strange sort of human ritual, or something in the sections she had not quite understood, or lost in translation from the English to Alternian editions of the book. Whatever it was, it did not matter. Her success was based on a false premise; namely, that humans were rational and easily understandable. She would do nothing but flounder in a conversation with Miss Lalonde, and now all she could do was search for an exit strategy.

“I must have misinterpreted your intentions,” she replied, “Do forgive me. I am not familiar with human customs as of yet, although I have read Lady Cowper’s monograph, _In Which Barbarian and Alien Customs are Explained in an Entertaining Yet Informative Manner By One of Their Own, Featuring Attempts At Aping the Alternian Quadrant System, a Severe Lack of Ritualized Violence and Many Strange Variations Upon Silverware_. Speaking—speaking of silverware, I am reminded of my need to eat food. With silverware. One that I share with many other members of my species.”

“What a coincidence,” said Miss Lalonde, “I require nutrition on occasion as well.”

“If you’ll excuse me,” Kanaya nearly muttered, and when Miss Lalonde nodded graciously in reply, she fled.

The buffet tables quickly became her refuge. She had not been introduced to most of the attendees, and, even if any were rude enough to approach her as she was, most were not rude enough to approach her while she held a plate of crudités, her mouth full enough from various appetizers to preclude any sort of speech. There were baked eggs, sugar-dusted strawberries, and oinkbeast-based tubes of meat stuffed into some sort of human sausage, which Kanaya particularly liked. Twice she was accosted by men in positively hideous rainbow ties, but she rebuffed them forthwith.

Standing against the wall, Kanaya watched the room, using the opportunity to inspect every dancer’s evening attire. One thing she had found she liked about England was the amount of attention paid to attire in that good nation, and she found the rich colors and varied fabrics of the _Ton_ especially pleasing to the eye. Eventually, though, while gazing with fascination at a particularly intricately tied cravat, she glimpsed Miss Harley’s favorite blue evening shawl out of the corner of her eye.

She approached with great relief, but slowed once she realized that Miss Harley was speaking to Miss Lalonde, and stopped once she realized that they were talking about her.

“She is amiable enough, I suppose,” Miss Lalonde told Miss Harley, “Although most definitely not the wonder you described. The Miss Maryam I met had very little of substance to say, and very many words to say it with, although I grant she was pleasant, if a bit insipid.”

Kanaya flushed jade. Her pulse, normally slower than that of a human’s, began pounding, a leaden sensation settling to the pit of her stomach. Insipid and without substance, when Miss Lalonde had barely spoken to her for half a minute, when the woman herself had not bothered to be the least bit comprehensible…she made her way towards Miss Lalonde and Miss Harley, and, although she had too much decorum to stomp, were she less in control of herself, her steps would crack the floorboards.

She greeted them, and they returned the sentiment.

“Miss Lalonde displayed some fascinating verbal linguistics in our last encounter,” she told Jade, “What was it called again, when you say something you do not mean?”

“Sarcasm,” Miss Lalonde replied, “Although the point is more to say something that is the opposite of one’s meaning rather than merely something different.”

“Human sarcasm,” Kanaya echoed, “Sarcasm, devoid of emotion, without any sort of real sentiment whatsoever, one’s intent hidden under layers of purposeful obfuscation…I suppose it’s clever enough. If a bit insipid.”

At that point, she wanted nothing more dearly than she wanted to sweep off into the night, leaving a stupefied Miss Lalonde in the wake of her grand exit, but pleasantries, the presence of Miss Harley and Miss Lalonde’s own conversational skill ensured that that small triumph eluded her grasp. No matter. Kanaya was flushed with her minor victory, her eyes alight with glee and her happiness bringing the slightest tint of green to her cheeks, almost invisible beneath her thick Alternian skin.

She was so caught up in congratulating herself, in fact, that she did not notice Miss Lalonde look at her and smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a pinch hit for Ladystuck 2014! Thanks for the great prompt :).


End file.
